Random shit I’ve pulled out of my purse lately

I realized today that I have pulled some really odd things out of my Louis Vuitton within the last week. In an attempt to lighten up from my last, more serious post, I figured I’d share with you all!


1: 2Ilbs of sausage
2: a bottle of white wine
3: a bra (not what you think I swear)
4: cat food ( wow this list is getting more and more pathetic)
5: a pair of heels

This list makes me sound like a cheap (yet exciting… Or at least eccentric) prostitute. Wow…. Ok let me explain.

My mom is making jambalaya tonight and my arms were full so I put the sausage in my purse to carry it inside. I had pool day with my sister and when I changed into my swimsuit I stuffed my under things into my purse. That was a little awkward though since I forgot it was in there until I went to the bar later that evening. I had dropped the cat food leaving the grocery store so I stuffed it into my purse to carry. Not real sure where the heels came from honestly but now that I’ve explained the rest of this list, hopefully everyone else is a little less concerned about them.

But if I hadn’t explained, you would be very confused 🙂 So I guess what I’m trying to tell you here is don’t be so quick to judge. Cause ya never know 🙂


Unexpected letters

You always hear that life is short and that saying keeps coming up lately. It hits home for my current situation but only in the way that it’s forcing me to do that breathing thing I’ve been talking and learning about lately. 

On my dragon slaying day, Monday, I mentioned to you all that I had stopped on my way to see my family.  My aunt and her daughter had stopped by as well. My mom had pulled out a very old photo album. My great Aunt Rose kept it full of things from my mom’s twin sister, Janice. In it were pictures and a lot of letters from her during the time she was battling cancer. 

Sadly, she did not win the fight and was taken much too soon at the age of 21. I had never seen this album, nor do I recall ever reading anything from her, or even seeing her hand writing.  She was everything to my mom, and from what I read of her letters she was an incredible and special person who had so much love in her heart for just about everyone.

I was completely taken aback and saddened by reading her words. I was saddened because she had so much life. I was also uplifted because she had so much life. It was incredible.

She talked to Aunt Rose about everything going on in her life but made little mention of how she was feeling. She focused on her family, her sisters, her parents. Where she was living or moving to. Their family trips to Seattle, for treatments,  and how much fun they had pretending to be just another group of tourists. 

When she did mention how she was feeling, it was about how much better, how good she was feeling. Or if it was bad, it was something like a tooth ache that got infected and caused fever and an upset stomach.  She never once broke optimism. Never once broke her positive stride. She talked about my Aunt Rene and her husband expecting their first child and how happy she was.  She talked about my mom, being with my dad and how wonderfully in love they were. I know I’ve mentioned the word incredible already but there truly is no other word for it. 

In the pictures of her, she was always smiling. There isn’t a single picture where she isn’t. I didn’t know whether to smile with her, or cry because that smile was cut so short. The thing is though, she lived. She lived and brought life and joy to everyone who knew her. She was honest. She didn’t hold back her happiness. From her letters it would seem she wanted nothing more then to be close to people.  And so many of us that have so much more time, spend it running. We spend it too scared to tell people how we really feel.

It shouldn’t come down to loss and fear to make us say the things we need and want to say. It shouldn’t come down to these things to bring out emotion. For her, she was so young, and enduring so much, and yet she knew the important things. The important people. 

Time is so fleeting. She went into remission when they didn’t think she would. Her battle was looking up. She was feeling fine. She even said in a letter, “This is the best I’ve ever felt,” and just a couple of short months later she was gone. 

We don’t have time to keep things to ourselves. We don’t have time to be proud or to be scared. If you love somebody tell them. If you miss somebody tell them. If you feel weak around somebody then show them every weakness you have and ask them to love you for it. Because the person you’re showing probably has a lot of weaknesses too. And you grow by sharing. You grow by being emotional and honest about it together. You need those moments with people.  It’s ok to not be strong all the time. Even if you get hurt, you at least tried. And if you don’t show it, then you will probably still get hurt because you will hurt yourself instead.  

I found out today that a friend of mine who has been having some medical issues is in worse shape then anyone knew. And he’s young. He’s 35. He is in the midst of getting his life together, making better decisions, actually living his life. It took him too long to get to that point. It took him being scared to turn things around. And I want to see him live and grow. 

And I want to do the same. I don’t want to wait for any more bad to happen to understand what’s important, and what it means to live. I want to love openly and honestly with somebody that will do the same, even if it’s scary. I want to be me every single day and not hold back. I want to keep learning and I want to write about it. I want to find the good in every situation, or at least the lesson. 

I wish I could write my aunt Janice a letter, and I might still, and thank her for what she showed me Monday. And thank her for her smile. And I hope that writing this will help her lesson spread even further.  

Initially I thought that there were so many more questions I wanted to ask about her. But then I realized that I have a lot more questions to ask about the people around me. And now I’ll answer some of the questions they have for me too. And maybe I’ll start writing some unexpected letters of my own.

Time to breathe… Why is that so hard?

With everything that’s been going on lately, the only thing I feel like doing is just trying to take a deep breath. The easiest thing in the world is something I’m not sure I have ever done.
I’ve had big dreams since the time I was 5. I went through hell shortly after that. So I ran. Even if I was just running in place, I was always running. Just to keep busy, just so I didn’t have to slow down and just take a deep breath and process.
Now I have too much time on my hands. I don’t have a way to keep busy. In the same breath, I also don’t have enough time. I need time to figure out my next move. I need time to find a job, an apartment, and time to try and pick up the pieces from my miniature emotional breakdown.
I lost a lot because I didn’t give myself time to think. I know that I lost much more then I wanted and now I wonder how i could’ve been that stupid.
The truth is really that simple. I didn’t allow myself to slow down. I just made one drastic decision after another because I felt like I had to take care of everything all by myself and take care of it immediately.
I don’t accept help well from others. Especially people I love. It makes me feel like I’m not good enough. It makes me feel like that’s what they’ll see, that they had to bail me out because I couldn’t do it myself.
I know now that I should’ve accepted the help. The offer was exactly what I would’ve wanted actually. It was something, that had I known it was an option before, I would’ve been very happy to accept. I just didn’t give myself the option to see it. I blew through it like I do everything else. But in an attempt to find the good here, at least now I know.
And then a funny thing happened yesterday. I started to appreciate things I hadn’t before. I was driving in the middle of nowhere, contemplating what I would say later that evening, when it started pouring down rain. It was one of those rare and beautiful things when the sun was still shining and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Yet it was still raining. Everything around was bright and green and alive and beautiful.
And I smiled. And I took a breath. And I know that I can now. And I know that I need to. And I know that I need to keep doing so.
And I need to keep talking. And I need to be honest with myself. You never think about the times you’ve lied to others simply because you were lying to yourself. I never intended to be a liar.
I hate that everything had to crash for me to get to this point but at least I am here. I hate that I had to lose so much but all I can do is try to build back from here. In the meantime I will keep reminding myself to breathe. And I would encourage others to do the same. And to please be patient with me as I learn.


Hitchhikers and the life/horror movie dilemma

I had a bad day today. In most aspects it should have been a good day. I decided to make a bold move. To go slay a dragon. I decided to stop and see my family on the way.

I did get to see the family. I got to see extended family too. I was halfway towards my bold move when I was asked to please not continue by the person I was attempting to boldly move. I guess I should say my dragon sent me a text message and squashed it. Not that I blame him. I don’t. dragon

So I stayed with the family a little later then I had planned. We had dinner and talked about my blog. No mention was made of the dragon again for fear of bringing up an already sore subject. You see my family is kind of awesome that way.

So after dinner I took my leave and started on the hour and a half drive home. About thirty minutes in I had to merge onto the interstate. And I saw a hitchhiker. A seemingly elderly, friendly looking one, with a really cute dog. He had a straw hat and a couple of bags and his thumb out. When it was clear I wasn’t going to stop I saw immediate stress and frustration cross his face. I almost turned around.

I almost turned around to the point that I pulled over a couple of miles down the road. Then my sister kindly reminded me that I don’t want my life to become a horror movie. I don’t watch horror movies so I’m not entirely sure how these things work but from what I can gather it would’ve gone something like this : Nice, twenty five year old girl stops to pick up the seemingly nice, elderly hitchhiker with the cute dog. He would smile and we would chat for a while. Then he would murder me.guess-that-horror-movie-oct-26-2011-2-600x703  I chose option B which was to get my ass back on the road and leave the hitchhiker and his dog where they were.

But I was heart broken. My dragon wanted no part of the slaying. I wanted to do something nice to make myself feel a little better. I figured conversation with a stranger, one that I could help, was better then listening to sad music the rest of the way home. Maybe I could’ve talked to this wisened human being. Maybe he and I are in similar boats but it took him a lot longer in life to get there. Maybe he was trying to slay his own dragons and I could’ve helped.

But then what if he had helped me? Wherever he is going I hope he gets there. I hope he’s not an ax murdering psychopath. I hope he slays his dragons.

I will never know what the conversation would’ve been, if there had been any at all. I will never know where he came from or where he is going. I will also never know if he would’ve killed me. I guess that’s the life we live in though. Either way, I feel like I learned from him all the same. At the very least it occupied my mind long enough to get away from the sad music.

In the meantime maybe I will watch a couple of horror movies and learn what else I’m not supposed to do. Hitchhikers, running up the stairs, long walks in cemetaries and/or woods at night, …..am I missing anything?

Romantic Comedies- promoting unrealistic expectations and clinical depression in women and gay men everywhere

All week this week I have been seeing Rom Coms on tv. On repeat. Every day. Every channel (That reminds me I have to watch Bachelorette tonight). Well maybe I’m just a little bitter because my current relationship situation has a lot to be desired, but I still couldn’t help but look at these God awful movies from an analytical perspective.

They all have the same theme, the same objective, the same plot really. Somebody has a good job, the other party does not. Somebody is in some kind of relationship, the other party not so much. Usually the one with the good job also has the relationship and therefor the other party is always the one that ends up lying for or helping support the relationship of the other. Even though they are secretly in love with each other. Next comes an almost kiss, a fight that leads to a fall out, and then the person in the other relationship realizes what a fucktard he’s been (It’s usually the guy in the movie) and comes rushing back in like a hero, swooping her off her feet, and declaring undying love.

Because this is completely plausible people. That’s just bad writing. It was bad writing the first time much less countless times later. Yet they still continue to make them because that’s where the money is. Why is that?

Is it because women are so starved for that kind of attention that they feed into it like sheep on crack? When you find yourself wanting to be Jennifer Lopez in “Maid in Manhattan” there’s a problem. (Not me. I’m just sayin)

My point is women grow up expecting this sort of thing to some degree. We grow up as little girls being told we’re a princess. We read romance novels from age 13 until forever and we watch these stupid movies. We grow up being misled. (Hello 50 Shades of Crap)

If we’re smart then we recognize that while Ms. Lopez is gorgeous and successful, her love life in real life is complete crap. We realize that we don’t actually want to be a hooker just so Richard Gere can come rescue us from our hell. We understand that Aladdin lied to Jasmine the entire fucking movie!!! And was completely out for the title and money the entire time anyway! Image

But what if you’re not? Smart I mean. What if you wait for that rescue? What if you wait for that kind of perfect connection that can push through lies, fear, and indecision, infidelity, baby mamas, and cocaine (I think that might be a different movie actually) that we grow up seeing all day every day?

Truly I think the problem is that these things keep girls from being themselves. They are taught not to be. They wait to be rescued.  They are taught to be damsels in distress and to go chase any and everything they want all at the same time because somebody will always catch them if they fall. Unfortunately this isn’t reality.

In reality we mess up. We get scared and we fuck it all up to hell and back. We settle when we shouldn’t and we don’t fight when we should. We’re scared to fight. It’s always the guy that has to in the movies.

So how do we fix this? I know that I haven’t watched my last romantic comedy or even read my last trashy romance novel. I know that I ate up Twilight like a 12 year old Twi-hard, and I still wish Edward would come bite me. I also know though that sometimes we have to rescue ourselves or even the other person. Sometimes we do have to fight.

So grab your swords ladies. Go slay your own dragons, and yell a battle cry on your way down!

Ceiling fan dust

Im currently lying in bed unable to sleep and staring up at the dust I need to clean off my ceiling fan.

Im also watching “How to Train Your Dragon” so now you know Im bored….(But I do love this movie)

Im beginning to compare my life to the said dust, or at least the ceiling fan,  and thats kind of making me worry about my sanity (or lack thereof) again. I do this from time to time.

Anyway….back to the dust. It just stays there. It spins around collecting more dust. Kind of like our lives. We spin around and go through life without a clue most of the time, just holding on to whatever anchor we can…like the fan blade. We collect baggage, and friends, and memories. Some of the dust falls off never to be seen again…like people we come into contact with. Some of them spin around with us forever and some of them fall to the floor.

Another thing, sometimes the fan stops altogether and we are at a standstill in our lives. We visit with our fellow dust pieces trying to make sense of it all and find meaning until it starts back up again.

And then other times it spins around so fast you can only hang on and enjoy the ride.

This entire note should be a testament to the fact that I dont get enough sleep. I swear Im not high when I come up with these things. Personally I dont even like dust (who does). It gives me horrible allergies..which is why I just dusted my fan. Im just saying…..sometimes we can find philosophy in the strangest things. Im not sure where or why my inspiration strikes me…it just does. So from now on Im going to keep my ceiling fan on high and enjoy the ride that is life 🙂

Did you know coat hangers are like people?

So a few nights ago I mustve been sick because for some reason I decided to tackle my room and my closet which lead me to lots of laundry and 2 Goodwill bags. Apparently I was feeling particularly insightful because halfway through my 53rd fight in less then an hr with the coat hangers from hell,  it dawned on me that there are several similarities between our species (the human race) & theirs, (the coat hangers).

We’ve all been there. We’ve all gotten coat hangers tangled into a humongous mess and it usually ends with alot of foul language and several heaps of twisted metal…sometimes theres an article of clothing still attatched but more often then not the focal point is the foul language. Much is the same in my daily life. I may not end up with a pile of metal but considering how much I manage to break everyday its usually a pile of something.

I  never stopped to consider the coat hanger though. My first thought was that the little fuckers did it on purpose and secretly had souls and were designed specifically to just fuck with us and make us angry. Truth be told Im still not convinced this isnt the case but in my cleaning frenzy I decided to take a deep breath and was determined to see them as something else. What I came up with suggests that I have mental issues but at this point dont we all?

Coat hangers are a great reflection of our lives if you ask me. Lets start from the beginning shall we?

Look at a coat hanger. What is it’s purpose? To hang pretty stuff on. Stuff we dont want to get wrinkled. Kind of like us. We dont (most of us at least) wear the bad stuff on the outside. We keep up appearances and swallow the bad and try to just show the good.

We wear the pretty stuff. We hang it on ourselves so that nobody expects anything lurking beneath the surface…such as the ability to turn a simple situation into a gigantic cluster fuck. Or that really on the inside we’re just a plain metal hanger like all the other plain metal hangers.

Another thing about hangers is that they are there for organizational purposes. If you look at how our society is built, we are built on organization. Organized religion, organized  business, organized military, government, security…so on and so on. We are both structured to provide a certain system and a certain service. The thing is though that more often then that we epicly fail! By the time you get hangers off the damn coat rack theyre so tangled and messed up you wanna just trash the whole lot of em. How many times in the past have there been revolutions? Overthrowing government? Overthrowing religion? We get frustrated with life and give up or trash things  or systems or relationships or friendships because it becomes one big mess that nobody feels like untangling. Its easier to throw it aside.

We also have a tendency to hang on when we shouldnt. Somebody takes us off the coat rack to give us a shot and what do we do more often then not? We hang on. We hang on to the coat rack because we’re scared of that chance. We hang on to other coat hangers. Hangers that are bad for us. Hangers from our past that dont care about us anymore. Hangers that are still tangled up in other hangers which only tangles us up even further. All we need to do is to let go. It seems so simple. There is no logical reason that the coat hanger (or you) should hold on yet it still happens.

So I do think that there are alot of similarities between us. Don’t lie to yourself and say that you are  no hanger. We are all hangers…..And so if you’re not fully or at least halfway convinced that I am crazy then thank you I appreciate your optimism. I will now continue to yell, cuss, and tangle my hangers, and crumple them into random unintelligible metal masses.

They’re control issues asshole….

So this post is going to be a little more serious. I almost kind of thought about not writing it because it doesn’t exactly fit the pattern yet but then I realized it’s my blog and I can write about whatever the fuck I feel like. Ask me if I care if you appreciate my versatility?

So I had a conversation with a friend today about women and especially women that have abuse in their pasts. There does tend to be a pattern or at least a stereotype that these women turn out to be promiscuous and or turn to drugs or alcohol. The common joke (which by the way don’t ever ever ever ever ever try to joke about this subject with me because in my opinion people that joke about situations like this, help contribute to the reason it still happens. It’s not lighthearted. If you feel it is then feel free to go play in traffic), is that there are daddy issues there.

First off let me say that daddy issues and abuse don’t normally go hand in hand. I won’t say they never do but statistically they are not the same thing. And honestly it has nothing to do with not being loved, or even necessarily looked after. Women from abuse tend to turn towards things that put them in control. It makes sense too. As a victim of abuse myself, my way of finding control was through modeling and dancing.

I learned I could be sexy and pretty and feminine through those things. I learned that it was on my terms. I had control over what people thought of me, even if it was through very superficial things. I could dance or take a picture that was sad, happy, sexy, even angry. Whatever you saw when you saw those things was exactly what I wanted you to. It was my decision.

It’s the same reason women turn to sex, drugs, whatever other vices are out there. They have control over it. Even if it’s bad for them, they are the ones making the decisions about what they do with their bodies and who they do it with.

Not everyone is blessed with some kind of creative outlet. Not everyone has something or somebody to turn to. So they take control in the only ways they know how.

Not to excuse this behavior entirely but before you judge or make insensitive jokes, why don’t you take a real look into a real problem that doesn’t seem to be ebbing in the slightest. If joking is the only way you don’t feel uncomfortable when this kind of subject material comes to light, then you don’t deserve a sense of humor. And you certainly don’t deserve to judge anyone.

So let me reiterate. It has nothing to do with daddy issues. It has everything to do with control. And speaking of control….No. I don’t care if you appreciate my versatility. Cause I’m in control of it. Not you.

A list of things my dog is probably thinking on a regular basis

  1. I wish my human would stop trying to find Jesus in my behind (see previous post)
  2. I think my human is mad at me again because I shit on the floor. The grass bothers my non holy butt. At least it’s better then that time I ate that entire box of sparkle crayons.
  3. This cat food is devine. I wish I had cat food.
  4. I wish this stupid fucking cat would stop eating my food
  5. This cat shit is my favorite food ever!!!!
  6. Time to kiss everyone in the face!!! I must share the cat shit!!
  7. I want to splash in every puddle I find! I love water! 
  8. Bath time?! I hate water!!! Water is the devil! It comes from Satan!!! I will now channel Satan!!! Hell will now break loose!!! Demons have taken me!!

If I had to guess….

Sir Jackass Skellington and easily offended weenies

My cat is an asshole. Or Jackass would be more appropriate I think. I’m watching the dog attempt to eat him right? So I yell at Peanut. Peanut puts his ears down and tail between his legs drops the cat and comes crawling into my lap. I then watch Jackass (as he will from now on be affectionately known as) look up like “WTF?”

Motherfucker gets pissed that the Peanut has shifted attention from him to me. He creeps up to the couch where Peanut is hiding his face, crouches down, and springs directly on to his ass.

Speaking of Peanut’s ass, I happened to see a news story at that particular moment that claimed that a dog’s ass depicted Jesus. If you haven’t seen this particular news story then just take my word for it. I’m not lying. I am also not lying when I tell you that the dog’s ass looks exactly like every Jesus picture, cloud, apparition you’ve ever seen.

So I do what any normal pet owner would do and promptly stare at my own dog’s ass. I grabbed Mr. Peanut, spun him around and held his butt up. After much agitation on the part of Peanut, and several teeth (also on behalf of Peanut) I deduced that my own dog was not so fortunate as to have the high and mighty shining from his behind.

Peanut was less then pleased to say the least. He didn’t find it amusing at all. He now refuses to speak to me much less look in my direction. First the cat, now his own mother. He is currently glaring at me and sighing heavily.

Personally I think it’s his fault. Maybe if his ass looked like Jesus he wouldn’t be so offended.